


Foreigner

by Paranon



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: F/M, Furry Australia, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-09-17 13:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9326789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paranon/pseuds/Paranon
Summary: When Officer Fangmeyer's blind date goes south, the last thing she expected was to find a foreign predator with a knife in his gut, a smile on his face and a beer in his hand.





	1. Chapter 1

The next time Fangmeyer saw that grey beast Francine, she'd give her a piece of her mind when they next got to back to work.

"Come on, just this once!" Francine had said, giving the tiger a nudge. "Look, my sister says he's a cool guy; he's hygienic and apparently he's got quite the fashionable side!"

"No."

Fangmeyer wasn't one to try blind dating; the thought of having to meet someone she had never seen before in a pseudo-romantic fashion gave her the willies.

"Fang, please!" Francine had pleaded, a look of desperation in her eyes. "If you do it just this once, I won't ask you ever again! Come on, we're partners. Don't you trust me?"

Moments had gone by in silence as Francine had watched the tiger contemplate the situation.

"Fine", came the reply from the exhausted tiger. "But if this guy isn't the second coming of Shang, you're buying me at least two rounds at The Ostrich Feather."

"I knew you'd come around, Fang! I'll take that deal!" squealed the excited Elephant as she hopped around, shaking all nearby loose objects off the shelf.

Fangmeyer was glad she had made that deal with Francine, because it was going to take a few drinks to forget the chump that had sat down in front of her.

"… Throw a bit of warp into the vocals and hey presto you get Vaporwave! And let me tell you something, it's no easy feat picking out the right samples either!" babbled the lion, waving his hands in the air like he was recounting some great story from years past.

Francine hadn't been wrong; this guy certainly was hygienic. In fact he had told Fangmeyer his entire showering routine and how best to style one's mane. In fact, Fangmeyer had barely gotten a word in, what with this gangly fool devouring her silence with his narcissism.

"Well I sure am beat!" he said, wiping his mouth with one of the napkins he had on his lap. "How about we split the bill, and then after I can walk you home?"

This came as a slight surprise to the tigress, as the lion wasn't exactly vertically gifted, nor was he particular fearsome; but the fact that he didn't appear to notice that she regularly exercised with weights twice his mass, as shown by her toned arms.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll be fine, thank you. I live nearby anyway, so I can just walk." Fangmeyer lied. Like hell she'd spend even more time listening to this sap and his 'music'.

"Heh, I didn't mean your place, if you feel me. And I really hope you do." Said the lion, trying to wriggle his eyebrows in a seductive manner.

In one fluid motion, Fangmeyer took a few notes out of her wallet, dropped them on the table and left a confused-looking lion by his lonesome.

As Fangmeyer turned the corner away from the restaurant, she took out her phone and called her partner.

"Ooh Fangy! How did it go? Was he nice? Handsome? Come now, give me the details!" came the excited voice of Fangmeyer's favourite elephant.

"To answer your questions, Frank: Shit, no, no way, he was a creep, and yes! I would adore some liquor about now! I'm heading to yours, so get changed and be ready to go to the pub. I don't know how many its take before I start to forget about that date, but with you by my side I'm willing to find out." Replied Fangmeyer, chuckling at Francine's enthusiasm.

As she walked down the street, her thoughts were interrupted by what appeared to be a sheep crouching over what looked like a wolfish coyote who was in a great deal of pain, judging by the way the sheep was fussing, and how the coyote held his gut. Looking around, the sheep spotted her and waved her down, and called her over.

"Hey! Please I need some help here! He's hurt really bad!" called the sheep, fear staining his voice.

Thanking the fact she had decided to wear dress shoes tonight, she dashed over to the pair, dropping down on a knee once she arrived.

"I'm Officer Fangmeyer, ZPD. What's happened here?" She asked, a fierce determination in her eyes.

"Aw g'day officer" said the "coyote", as he reached into the grocery bag he had lying next to him, pulling out a beer, putting the neck to his mouth, and wrenching the cap off with his teeth, taking a long drink. "Yeah, what my wooly friend here is trying to say is that we were mugged on our way back from the bottle-o up the street, I got stabbed in the gut, and here we are."

Fangmeyer was shocked. Not only did this canine calmly explain to her that he was stabbed in an incredibly vital area, but he was taking swigs of his beer as he told her this.

"Have either of you called the ambulance?" asked Fangmeyer as she began to assess the wound in the canine's belly.

"No, we couldn't! That blasted wolf stole my phone! Can I use yours?" bleated the sheep, as he fiddled with his hooves, anxious about the canine.

"Go for it"

Taking the phone she handed him, the sheep dialled and began to speak to the operator.

Once the ambulance arrived, paramedics took the canine into the ambulance on a stretcher, but what she couldn't understand was why this mutt had insisted on keeping his beer. He didn't seem the least bit inebriated; Hell, he even calmly and politely thanked the medics for helping him up.

"Hey medic, I'm officer Fangmeyer." Said the tiger in question, flashing her badge. "Mind if I come with you guys to the hospital? I want to make sure I get this guy's story right. Lambchop over here can't string two words together without having a panic attack" she said gesturing to the fidgeting sheep.

"Go for it" replied the paramedic, a skunk. The medic gave the canine a nudge to the shin. "Hey, dingo, anything you want to say to Shirley Mutton over here before you leave?"

"Actually yeah, cheers mate." Came the measured response from the "dingo". Judging by how the words strained against his breathing, it seemed like he was in some serious degree of pain, but the smile he had on his face would try to convince you otherwise.

"Oy Rod, I'll give you a call when I'm healthy and we can have a drink, alright?" Said the dingo, as chipper as ever.

"Yeah… Yeah! Alright, yeah, sure thing 'mate'!" replied 'Rod', as he slowly stopped fidgeting and began to calm down.

Noticing the dingo's attempt at hiding his haggard breathing, the paramedic grabbed a syringe from a box on a nearby shelf before tapping his charge on the shoulder.

"You're looking a little worse for wear there, champ. Let me stick you with some painkillers; should help with that pain."

The dingo only shook his head and gave him a soft smile.

"It's alright, mate I'm fine."

"Are you sure there? I mean you did just get stabbed."

The canine's smile hardened slightly.

"Mate, I'm fine," he said sternly.

Accepting the strange dingo's request, the medic closed the door behind them as they throttled down towards Savannah Square Private.

As morning dawned on the next day, so did Mick Warre, albeit with a searing pain in his abdomen. Rubbing his eyes, stretching his arms, and scratching his muzzle, Mick looked around the room, examining his surroundings. Looking at the monitor of the IV machine, he noticed a small note lying on top of it. Reaching out, he found the neatest handwriting he'd seen in a long while emblazoning a serviette. The little letter read: "As I'm sure you're aware, I will need you to come by the ZPD station as soon as you are discharged, as I will need to take your statement about the events that had occurred last night. Regards, Officer Fangmeyer".

Smiling, Mick folded the serviette back up and put it back on the IV machine. Not exactly the way he had expected to start his 'great journey' to Zootopia, but he couldn't argue that it wasn't exciting.


	2. Chapter 2

Zootopia was larger than what Mick was used to back home. Great skyscrapers tore into the clouds, miniature cars scooted beside the gutter and mammals of incredible diversity went about their business. Not to say that his own home wasn't developed, but Zootopia was world-renowned for its incredible feats of engineering and weather manipulation. Slowly walking down a busy sidewalk, partially due to his curiosity and due to a large wound in his belly, Mick took in the rich sights; sounds and smells the bustling Savannah Central offered him. After a while simply basking in the city's atmosphere, Mick finally decided to make his way to the police station, just as the pretty tigress asked of him. Welcomed by automatic doors and the cool impact of the air-conditioning, Mick walked in and made his way towards what he assumed would be the reception desk. Behind it was a cheetah that could only be described as having a diet of the 'generous' persuasion.

"Ah, hey there. I was called in to give my statement to an 'Officer Fangmeyer'? Is she around at all?" asked Mick, catching the sizeable bloke's attention.

"Ooh, you must be the foreigner Fangsy was talking about!" exclaimed the cheetah, jowls quivering with every syllable. "Hold on just a moment and I'll call her over. Why don't you have a seat over by the door?"

Nodding in appreciation, Mick made his way towards the chairs, only to find them slightly higher than his chest.

"Must be one of those Zootopian "one sizer" chairs…" he grumbled, trying to claw his way up the fabric, without tearing a telling hole in them. Giving up, he resorted to lean as calmly as he could, so not to warrant any further attention to his embarrassing attempt at mounting a chair. Only a few minutes had passed before Mick was greeted by Officer Fangmeyer's shadow looming over him.

"Mr Warre. I appreciate you coming in for this statement, what with your condition and all," she said, gesturing to Mick's abdomen.

"Wasn't a problem, officer! I could've done with the exercise anyway!" said Mick, a smile returning to his muzzle.

Walking with Fangmeyer, Mick was guided to an office cubicle, this time with reasonably sized chairs. Taking a seat, Fangmeyer reached into her pocket and retrieved a black box and laid it on the desk next to him, and took the opposing seat.

"Mr Warre, for archival purposes, the ZPD would like to ask your permission to record your statement. Do you comply?" recited the tigress, evidently used to her lines.

"Yeah, righto. Sounds fine by me. And please, call me Mick," he replied, not taking his eyes away from his interrogator's.

"Well alright then, lets begin!" exclaimed Fangmeyer, emotion returning to her voice. "OK, so I'll need your full name to start us off."

"Michael Arthur Warre of Beenleigh."

"Of Beenleigh? Is that a wider pack name?" queried Fangmeyer. She wasn't sure what sort of environment this guy came from, so it never hurt to ask.

"Nah, nothing like that. We Barrenners take the name of the place we spent the most time growing up in. In my case, it was Beenleigh." He explained, prompting the tigress to click her fingers in realisation

"A Barrenner! I completely forgot that possibility!" She exclaimed, only to be greeted by the confusion on her interviewees' face.

"Oh, right, my bad." She mumbled, chuckling quietly. "Ever since that medic called you a 'dingo' I was wracking my head trying to remember where I heard that species before. The Dingoes hail from the Great Barren down South, right?"

Releasing a hearty laugh that only caused her to smile, Mick shook his head. "Yeah, you got me! Just came in fresh a few days ago, so it's been wild from start to finish, let me tell you!"

"So how about you tell me how you came to get stabbed near a bottle shop, Mick?" asked Fangmeyer as she angled her recorder to better pick up on Mick's words.

"I had been planning on moving to Zootopia for a while now: see the sights, get a nice apartment and get to work. So I get in contact with my now-landlord, set up a rental scheme and get on the plane. Only problem was when I got to my apartment, as the landlord had mixed up the dates, time zones and all that. Since he was doing a final fumigation, I couldn't move in, but he was nice enough to lend me a room from one of his other apartments in Savannah Square. With my room sorted, I reckoned it'd be a good time for a nap, and some night time booze."

"Come on darlin'" said the excited dingo, quickly making his way down the street, gazing intently into his phone, following the little blue dot onscreen as it came closer and closer to its destination: the local grog shop. An excited chuckle escaped the sandy canine's jowls as he opened the door. It was like going to a toy shop as a child; so many wondrous liquids, just waiting to be downed.

It was then I saw Rod, the sheep from that night. Looked like he was having quite the dilemma choosing what beer to chose, and like the good alcoholic I am, I went to help him out.

Approaching the preoccupied Ram, Mick looked at what bottle he had in his hand.

"Nice choices you've got there." Said Mick as he approached the sheep.

Bleating in surprise, he turned around, a wide-eyed expression plastering his face, before sighing at the apologetic grin on the canine's.

"Wow, OK, sorry about that" mumbled the sheep, freeing a hoof to wring at his fleece. "I didn't hear you back there."

"Please, mate, it was my bad, didn't mean to spook you", apologised Mick, holding his hands up in a mock surrender. "But to continue what I was saying, seems like you're loosing wool over your beer. Nothing a quick decision and a good beer can't fix, so if you'd like, I can help you in that department?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess?" replied the ram, offering a small smile, eyes shifting around the store, not making contact with Mick's. "I'm looking for something I've not tried before, but I don't know the first thing beyond what I'm used to."

"Worry not my friend, I've got you!" said Mick, clapping the sheep on the shoulder. "Name's Mick Warre. What's yours?"

"Uh, Rodney. Rodney Merino."

So after our little shopping spree, Rod and I were walking back by his place, and then I'd go further on to mine, and we'd have been swell, if it wasn't for that wolf that jumped us.

Walking down the street towards Rodney's loft, Mick was having a blast talking with his woolly friend, discussing current affairs, politics and the best place to eat in Zootopia. Turning the corner, they were approached by a hooded wolf, shadows swallowing his muzzle. Simply ignoring him, Mick kept talking with Rodney, up until the point where the wolf suddenly lashed out, clenched fist landing on Mick's chin, knocking him back. Before Mick could react, the wolf quickly reached into his back pocket and pulled out a fearsome-looking flick knife.

"Wallets, phones, jewellery. You know what this is." Snarled the wolf, lips raised, baring his fangs.

Obviously threatened, Rodney slowly lowered the bag of beer, bleating as he did so and took out his phone and wallet, slowly offering it to the wolf, tentatively so he did not give the wolf a reason to make mutton out of him. As Mick started to get up, the wolf turned his knife onto him.

"You too, mutt; money or your life," said the wolf, grinning at the welt he'd left on his victim's head.

"Fuck off cunt", came the measured response from Mick that neither the mugger or Rodney expected.

"Perhaps you didn't hear me, whelp. Give me. Your valuables. Or I make ribbons out of your pelt." Replied the wolf, becoming more agitated, waving the knife in Mick's direction.

"Just try it you silly cunt, and I'll put you in the ground like the pansy you are." replied Mick, eyes not leaving the wolf's.

"Fine by me!" barked the wolf, swinging the knife, embedding it into the dingo's gut. What the wolf didn't expect, however, was for Mick to not make a sound and to continue staring him down. A moment that felt like forever passed for all parties involved before the wolf, eyes wide with shock, let the knife go, grabbed what the ram had given him, and made a mad dash back around the corner he came, leaving a wide-eyed Rodney next to a dingo who was making his way to the nearest wall to lie down on.

So Rod helped me clean the wound as best as we could, and even gave me one of his beers to help the pain. Upstanding gent, that one.

"And that's it right?" asked Fangmeyer, nearly at the edge of her seat after having been edging ever so slowly forward as Mick recited his 'noble deed'.

"That's all she wrote, yeah. Took every last bit of self control to not start crying in pain. Though thinking back, it was worth it. Wolf probably thinks I'm some kind of invincible iron-dog or something like that, ay?"

"Oh I'm sure he does," replied Fangmeyer, chuckling at the dingo's admission. "Well Mick, you're free to go. I'll get this written up and submitted by day's end. We'll let you know when we catch him, OK?"

"Much obliged, Officer." Said Mick, gingerly hopping off the chair and making his way out of the building.

"By the way," called Fangmeyer. "How's the cut?"

"Ah, I appreciate the worry, but I'm fine. It'll heal!" Mick replied, walking past the front foor.

Watching him leave, Fangmeyer was suddenly brought to attention by the unexpected presence of a large grey object appearing next to her, driving her to leap back whilst hissing at the unknown 'assailant'.

"Gods in their heavens, Fang! Are you alright?" gasped the equally spooked Francine. "I've never been able to sneak by you before! And judging by that reaction, I really doubt I ever want to again."

Bringing her breathing to a more reasonable level, Fangmeyer stood back up and collapsed lazily back onto her chair, arms dangling at her sides. "Fuck, Francine. I hope you don't either. However, after we get off shift, we're changing in the locker room and heading directly to the pub, no questions asked. I've gone dry for three days and I think the stress is getting me to the point where I would prefer to head butt a belt sander if it meant I got some rest." Admitted the moping tigress.

"Fine." Replied Francine, smiling like she always did when Fangmeyer was out of it: with warmth and understanding. "But I want to bring Hopps with us. I doubt the poor dear has even tried more than a few glasses of burrower-sized wine. I want to see what she does when she lets loose a little bit."

"If it means I get the drinks you owe me, then done deal!" said Fangmeyer, as the two grabbed each other by the elbows and shook on it.


	3. Chapter 3

Fangmeyer LOVED driving with Francine. Whenever Fangmeyer told Francine this, the Giant would proudly chalk it up to her safe style of driving that was notorious within the Precinct; but what she didn't know was that what Fangmeyer really loved was the sheer size of Francine's car. Being of the 'Giant' size class meant that a mammal would be taxed the least out of any other person in Zootopia, to offset the substantial cost of living that normally came with buying food larger than a block in Little Rodentia. While she had a car herself, Fangmeyer took every opportunity to ride in what she considered to be the biggest car she'd be allowed to ride in. The chairs sat so high compared to the already larger-than-average tiger that she sat a full 2 heads below the head rest. Sitting comfortably cross-legged with arms laid to rest at her side, Fangmeyer turned to her grey friend, noticing her typical smile missing.

"Hey," purred Fangmeyer. "What's gotten you worn down, Frankie? Normally you'd jump at the chance to go out together with the girls."

"What? Oh, yeah…" mumbled Francine. "You know I really thought my sister had a better grasp of that lion's personality than what she let on. I just want you to be happy, Fang! I don't think any of us at the station have seen you with any form of 'significant other' in the sever years you've been working with us!"

Sighing, giving her worried friend a knowing smile, Fangmeyer replied,

"Look, Frankie. I really appreciate the effort you've been putting into me and my love life, but just take it from me: the sole reason I've not found anyone is exclusively because I'm too lazy to actively look for someone!"

This earned a wildly confused glance from the elephant.

"OK, I can see why you're a bit confused, but let me put it this way: if I ever meet someone who I really like, then I'll go for it, but until then, I'll stick to my work. I can't go leaving my good friend in the dust, can I? I hear elephants can die of loneliness if their partners leave them."

Giving the feline a playful shove, Francine turned the corner to their local watering hole.

"Okay, that only happened to that one elephant years ago, and secondly, I'm glad my kitty likes me so much!" said Francine as she grabbed Fangmeyer as soon as the tiger had taken off her belt and began to rub the top of her skull, eliciting a series of high-pitched grunts from her.

As the pair made their way to the bar, they spotted their long-eared friend by the bar, gently sipping from a glass of water. As to two sat beside Judy, Fangmeyer brought the surprised rabbit into a quick hug before waving down the barman.

"Judy!" Exclaimed the jovial tiger, nodding at the honey badger barman as he went to fetch Fangmeyer's "regular". "Nice of you to join us! Sorry about the lateness; Francine did drive."

"Fangmeyer! Oh don't worry yourself, I only just got here!" assured the rabbit. "I had Nick drive me after work, but he drives like he's practicing for a car chase, so I can't be one to judge Francine for driving safely."

"And I'd be so very hurt if you did!" drawled Francine sarcastically as she took the martini placed in front of her by the badger and taking a long pull, smacking her lips as she savoured the taste. "Perfect as always, Ron!"

"Don't thank me, Trunks," said the Badger as he made quick work of creating a carrot cocktail. "You guys come by my little establishment so often that I consider you to be more as investors than customers."

"Well with that in mind, Ron," said Fangmeyer with a devious smile. "I expect increasing returns in the form of your flawlessly mixed 'shares'."

As laughter erupted from the trio, they all called a toast and began a night of barely-contained enjoyment.

As the night progressed for the trio, so did their consumption of alcohol. Fangmeyer, already on her fourth shot of rum, slung her arm across the shoulders of her tiny companion with the grace of a teenage hippo.

"Say 'Opps," Fangmeyer slurred into the ear of the rabbit, who's head was "just resting" on the bar top. "Was' the deal with you and Wilde, eh? You two spen' an' awful lotta time together."

Hopps, now suddenly feeling 'rested', jolted upright, eyes wide and fixated on her interrogator's toothy grin.

"I-I-Well. * ahem *. Well e'er since I convinced Wilde to join 'our side', we've just bin' going out as friends, y'know? As friends. Partners…"

Sensing the evident internal conflict swelling inside the rabbit's heart, Fangmeyer made the executive decision to pass on rabbit duty to Francine, who was currently downing any reasonable mammal's definition of a yard glass. Tapping Francine on the shoulder before gesturing the mournful rabbit and then to the nearby bathroom, Fangmeyer hurriedly made her way to relieve herself. Washing her paws, she found herself admiring her face in the mirror. Being Winter, her coat was delightfully fluffier than it was normally, a trait she had loved since she was a young kitten. Before finishing up and opening the door, she heard a familiar voice echo into the ladies'.

"Now THIS, my friends, is how to do a shoey!"

No way. She could recognise that accent anywhere.

Opening the door, she hurriedly looked around, finding the source of the commotion, finally landing on the mammal she had expected to see, just in a strange predicament. Mick Warre was standing on top of the bartop, a single shoe on his foot, with another in his hand, using it as a glass. Watching in awe as he sculled a shoe's worth of what she assumed to be beer, he finally took the shoe away from his mouth, tipped it upside down to prove his success, and took a bow. Many patrons hollered and clapped, but what took Fangmeyer most by surprise was that Hopps seemed to be doubled over in fits of cackling laughter, with Francine covering her eyes with her ears, but with a goofy grin plastering her face.

As he gingerly made his way down from off the bartop, attempting not to cause any undue damage to himself, he was met with a wall of muscle and stripes.

"Ay sorry there, bud, didn't see ye the- Wait on, Officer Fangmeyer?" Asked Mick, evidently flabbergasted at who had made herself known to him.

"The one and only! Please don't tell me you drank beer from a fucking SHOE?" She asked incredulously, trying to cover a chuckle with her paw.

"Especially since you copped a bit of a wound recently, colour me impressed."

Picking up on her enjoyment of the situation, Mick shot back. "Well I wouldn't be a gracious guest if I didn't educate the locals on the age-old customs of my people! And besides, don't worry about my wound, I'm fine."

"So, what, did someone ran out of glasses one day and decided his shoe would do?" she asked, accepting his excuse.

"I'll have you know traditional Barren gumboots are a versatile shoe, especially when it comes to the consumption of drugs."

"I'll be sure to take your word for it," replied Fangmeyer, enjoying the stupid banter the pair were having.

"Hey, since you and your mates, and me and my mates are here," Mick said, gesturing to a now-incredibly extroverted Rodney telling Fangmeyer's plastered friends an (exaggerated) recount of the night the pair were mugged.

"Why don't I buy first drinks? My treat, since it'd be the best way I can think of thanking the cops who are on the hunt for Mr Wolf."

She was sold at 'my treat'. Taking Mick's outstretched paw and giving it a hearty shake, she made her way to the barman and knocking twice on the bar.

"You heard the man, Badge. First round's on him!"


	4. Chapter 4

Fangmeyer didn't feel too good. As soon as the blades of sunlight filtered through the curtains and stabbed her eyes, it was as if her entire head was simultaneously wrought with a dull, throbbing pain. As her train of thought began to move, she realised she had never felt this horrid after a night out. Obviously she'd had far and away more drink than she had ever before. Looking around what was in front of her, her eyes widened and her heart sent a chill throughout her body as she realised:

This wasn't her apartment.

Closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths, she steeled herself for who she may see next to her. Slowly, she rolled her form around on the bed, only to find the other side empty and missing a pillow.

Strange. She thought; bedfellows didn't tend to leave bed with their pillow as far as she was aware. Working up the energy to get up, stay upright and start walking, she made her way to the closed bedroom door. As she grasped the door knob, she slowly turned it and as soon as the door began to open, she was assaulted by an almost overpowering scent of spices. Making her way across the hallway and around the corner, she began to hear sizzling and could begin to make out the unique scent of frying bugmeat. As she reached the kitchen, she saw no other than her dingo friend, Mick Warre, bobbing to an unheard tune as he waltzed around the small kitchen, grabbing ingredients and stirring the dish.

"Mr Warre, I hope you have a very good reason as to why I've woken up in what I can assume is your bed in your house?" Asked Fangmeyer, her agitation only slightly showing.

"Ah! Good morning Fang! Good to see you up and about so soon, "said Mick, everpresent smile still emblazoned on his muzzle. "Lemme get you some meds. Looks like you can barely walk straight."

Taking the pills and the glass, she eyed him warily, unblinking and unwavering in her examination of his expression, seeking guilt or lies.

Noticing her piercing gaze, Mick spoke up.

"I can see you're a tad agitated right now, so I'll say it now: we did not do anything untoward last night. No sex, no cuddling no nothing. Hell, I even slept on the couch," he said gesturing to a couch draped in blankets along with the missing pillow.

"OK, I'll take your word for it. But that still leaves Francine and Judy. How'd they get home?" asked a now-curious Fangmeyer.

"Probably Zuber'd it is my guess. Hopps was absolutely blitzed and Frankie was pretty out of it herself," replied Mick, as he scraped chunks of a white flesh out of the pan.

"Then why didn't I?"

"Because I promised you this," Mick replied as he dished up and served what he was cooking. It was yellowy rice mixed with peas and bits of a couple varieties of meat.

Taking a forkful and gingerly lifting it to her mouth, she had to ignore the hopeful smile Mick was wearing, like a schoolboy handing in his best assignment yet. Taking a bite, all her animosity towards the dingo was forgotten and all present and future grievances were and will be forgiven. To say the canine had his way with a kitchen would be an understatement, but what made it perfect was the fish. The white meat just fell apart in her mouth, creating one of the nicest things she had eaten in months.

"Yeah, when I said I could make a mean fish dinner last night, you practically forced me to take you home so you could have some. Since you passed out almost as soon as you came in, I had to haul your arse to bed and postponed 'til this morning," explained Mick, appeased with the tiger's entranced silence.

She didn't have the will to speak at that moment. Speaking would mean she couldn't eat as fast. Purring as she made quick work of her bowl, she simply sat back and let the grease and spices sort her head out. Her mother had always said that grease was the cure-all to any hangover, and by the Gods she was right.

Finally, as Mick was washing up, Fangmeyer came back to reality and cleared her throat.

"Well, that was pretty good," she said meekly, after being denied helping with the dishwashing.

"Aren't you at all hungover? I think I remember you drinking an awful lot."

"Nah," Mick said, shaking his head. "I'm fine; little bit of alcohol won't keep me down for long."

Fangmeyer chuckled.

"So, what're you doing in sunny Zootopia? Wouldn't happen to be joining the police force would it? We've had a few since the Nighthowler case a couple months back."

"Close," Mick said with a sponge in hand. "I got work with the research labs in ZooU researching the Nighthowlers and the how they affect the brain."

"You got work with Zootopia University? Congratulations, I guess. You'd have to be pretty cluey to get hired with them."

"Nah, apparently they were running out of plant-specialised Toxicologists, so I just applied and off I went."

"Huh, would've thought they would've hired those in bulk… So should I call you Doctor Warre then?" Fangmeyer asked, a sly smile n her muzzle.

"Ha! In your dreams. Nah, I was year into studying for my Master's in Toxicology before I left Barrens."

A Toxicologist… Fangmeyer could never have guessed the little canine would have been in such a, "unique", field.

After a brief period of silence as Mick cleaned up the kitchen and Fangmeyer re-did the bed, she decided to get to know her host.

"So," she began. "I heard the Barrens are a predator's delight; what with all the bugs and fish in abundance. Why'd you leave?"

"Well," said Mick as he began to plunge a fresh pot of coffee. "Despite what everyone thinks about the Barrens, there are still some prey living there. Even one of my best mates I grew up with was a springbok. Only difference is that they behave more like preds. Ever hear a springbok growl trying to defend his stuff? It's endearing but funny as hell. But why I left? Well for one I wasn't going to give up on my first professional job, and secondly I thought it'd be nice to have a change of scenery. I was tempted to get an apartment in Sahara Square, but I got a neat deal on this place."

Realising she still had no idea where she was in Zootopia, Fangmeyer made her way to the balcony and opened the curtains and was greeted by the humid air that came part and parcel with the Rainforest District. Walking out on the relatively small balcony, she looked around, spotting the vast wall of trees that made up the infrastructure of the District. Windows dotted the thick greenery of some trees, while the taller trees had roads weaving in and out of them like thread. Below her she could see a dark green river that flowed underneath as it carried with it a few garbage barges, some ferries and even a houseboat.

"The Rainforest District?" Fangmeyer asked as she made her way inside, accepting the bowl of coffee from Mick. "I used to live here when I was younger!"

"Dead set? It's a small world I guess."

As the two talked about each other's experiences in the District, an alarm went off near Fangmeyer's purse in the corner of the room. Taking the phone inside it, she silently cursed to herself.

"Look, I'm sorry to cut this short, but duty has called earlier than expected so I really need to be off if I want to be on time," Fangmeyer said as she began to gather her belongings she had so carelessly strewn across the room the night before.

"Yeah, no problem. Sorry I can't drive you out there, no car and all that," Mick apologised as he hefted Fangmeyer's bowl to the sink.

"Nah it'll be fine," she assured him. "If we are where I think we are, there's a train station that has a line that goes nearby HQ. I'll get my spare uniform and I'm set."

Before Mick could react, Fangmeyer picked him up by his armpits and gave him a hug like he was a toy.

"Thanks for getting me home in one piece, and for the breakfast. Never had fish like it!" said the tiger, a blush forming unbeknownst to the dingo, who was also sporting his own rosy cheeks.

Putting him back down, Fangmeyer made her final farewell as she squeezed her way out the front door, leaving Mick stunned momentarily.

"Yeah, I'm definitely doing that again," he muttered as he got changed for the day before him.


	5. Chapter 5

As her train rattled along the damp tracks of the Rainforest District, Fangmeyer was finally losing the pounding sensation that had hounded her since this morning. Whatever magic that dingo had woven into the food had worked wonders, and even better, had filled her belly better than what she'd hesitate to call 'breakfast' she'd had the past few days. Head in her paws, she massaged her temples, trying to remember what had happened last night. While she couldn't remember details, she did remember Mick had ordered Fangmeyer and he small pack of cops a round or three of drinks. Judy, being the loose drunk she was, downed the drinks like they were water, while Francine had to stop her from dancing on the sleeping patron next to them. Fangmeyer couldn't help but think that there was something she ought to have remembered; something slightly important. Putting the errant thought out of her mind, she decided to get her mind together for another day prowling the Zootopian streets for ne'er do wells.

Reaching the headquarters, Fangmeyer was pleased to see that only Clawhauser and a few other administration members were present. Quickly, she bid them greetings before making her way to the female changing rooms. As she rounded the corner to her locker, an equally shocked elephant startled her.

"Fang? What're you doing here this early?" asked Francine, a smug grin beginning to form on the sides of her lips.

"Didn't have my uniform with me, decided to take the spare here," Fangmeyer exclaimed, eyeing Francine suspiciously. Obviously she knew something Fangmeyer didn't. And she hated it.

"Oh that's fair. I'm in a similar dilemma. Forgot to iron my blues last night, you see. Though you would've had a different situation, no?" asked Francine as she began to nudge Fangmeyer's broad shoulders, wriggling her eyebrows.

Fangmeyer would have none of that.

"Don't be gross, Frankie. Mick was a gentleman who left his bed to myself and made me meat for breakfast. All a girl can ask of a friend, really," Fangmeyer explained as calmly as she could to the smirking elephant.

"Oh, I'm sure. But he's a friend now, is he?"

"Francine, I swear-"

"No, no. I wasn't going to say the 'boyfriend' word. Rather, I was going to call him your dance partner"

Oh dear. Oh no. Oh fuck.

Grabbing her partner by the shoulders and with a wild look in her eye, Fangmeyer tried to shake an answer out of Francine.

"Frankie please tell me I didn't make a fool out of myself!"

"Why don't you see for yourself?" asked Francine as she reached for her hoofbag and took out her tablet 'phone'. After fiddling with it for a moment, she handed the wide-eyed cat her phone and hit the play button.

Fangmeyer couldn't believe her eyes. There she was, standing on a booth table in the very bar they visited last night, with Mick on her shoulder, doing a drunken rendition of the can-can as Mick played the tune from his phone and kicked his legs along with her own. Raucous laughter emanating from Francine and Judy could be heard from the video.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Fangmeyer locked the phone and handed the phone back to her grinning friend.

"Francine, while I'm angry at you for recording that, I am willing to forgive you if you tell me right now that no-one from outside of that bar last night has seen this,"

"Don't worry babe, it's safe with me," assured Francine, stifling a giggle.

As the pair walked out from the changing rooms, Fangmeyer heard the all-too familiar tune of the can-can music. Her head zeroing on to the source of the noise, she spotted the station's first fox cop chuckling at his phone, while his rabbit partner sat next to him, massaging her head. Swiftly making her way to the smug fox, she grabbed him by the collar and easily lifted him to face level.

"You WILL explain how you got that video, so help me Shang, and if you don't, fox…."

Gulping in fear, Nick Wilde gestured to the hung-over rabbit.

"Hey, look Stripes, when I took Judy home, this was the only thing she was watching for the entire ride AND until she fell asleep. I just happened to see it in passing. A few times," he offered, trying to appease the enraged tiger.

Releasing her grip on him, she let him fall onto his hindquarters back on his seat. Kneeling down next to the rabbit, she gave her a small nudge.

"How're you doing Hopps? Head a little sore?" asked Fangmeyer, now concerned for the near catatonic lagomorph.

"I just hear pain and feel like bird sh-crap," Judy corrected herself.

Smiling gently, Fangmeyer stood back up.

"Why don't you get your fox to do something worthwhile for once and fetch you the greasiest tofu burger he can find. It'll work wonders on that head of yours," Fangmeyer offered, giving Nick an intense gaze as she gestured to the fox that he ought to leave.

"Now, I could do without those harsh words-" Began Nick as he made his way off the chair, only to be silenced by Fangmeyer baring her teeth slightly and growling; speeding him along.

An hour had passed as the trio talked, leaving Nick with the other gents of the ZPD. Francine had planned to return to the pub after their shift to pick up her car, and seeing an opportunity to go for another ride, Fangmeyer 'generously' offered her company for the walk there. As Zootopia's finest slowly trickled into the bullpen, Chief Bogo, much to the surprise of many of the officers present, simply walked in wearing a pair of sunglasses holding a stack of folders and dropped them in front of some groups of partners. Some snickers from other officers could be heard when Bogo was furthest from them.

"Your assignments are in the folders. Those of you without a folder are on parking duty. Get to work," said the Chief as he finished his round of the bullpen, voice sounding like sandpaper on gravel.

Watching as Francine took the folder off the table, Fangmeyer hoped that they got a theft case.

"Urgh," groaned Francine as she dropped the open case in front of Fangmeyer, who took it with eager paws.

"String of night-time disturbances in Flock Street, of all places. Probably some rotten old ewe having a fit when some nocturnal predator cub enjoys themselves."

Placing the folder back gently on the table, Fangmeyer felt the headache she fought so hard to keep at bay returning. Flock Street was known as one of the wealthier streets within Savannah Central, and was densely populated by flock prey. While Fangmeyer didn't have any sort of grudge against sheep (she was quite fond of Mick's friend Rodney), she despised Flock Street for the sheer amount of passive specism that was thrown her way whenever they visited for a call. They were so bad even Francine copped a little bit now and again.

As the two moved, they passed Judy and Nick both mumbling to themselves in annoyance without a folder on their desk, but Fangmeyer decided that she left the two lovebirds alone as they sorted out their dull day. As Fangmeyer leapt into the driver's side of the police interceptor, she felt her phone buzz. Unlocking the screen, she was greeted by a text from an unknown number:

"Hey Fang, it's Mick. Got word the rest of my shit's due soon so I want to celebrate with a cook up. Care to join me for dinner at mine?"

Annoyed her partner was looking at her phone in apparent disbelief rather than starting the car, Francine quickly snatched the feline's phone with her trunk, reading the message while fending off the blushing tigress.

Finally finishing, Francine gave Fangmeyer her phone back, only to embrace her as well.

"My goodness, Fangy! You've got a date! You'll accept, right?" Francine asked, eyeing the tiger.

"I… I mean, yeah, I guess? Wait; fuck off, this isn't a date! This is just two friends having dinner!" exclaimed the now-crimson tiger.

"Let's just get back to work, alright? I don't want to hear SHIT from you on the ride over."

Francine did as her partner requested. She did not, however, stop herself from wearing a gleeful smirk on her face for the entire ride over.


	6. Chapter 6

The door nearly took out a hanging painting as it was slammed open in Fangmeyer's haste. Silently chastising herself for her clumsiness, she began to quickly make her way to the shower. Stripping down, she tossed he uniform in the corner and practically leaped into the shower, relishing the feeling of hot, liquid calmness washing over her, cleansing her of the anxiety that had gripped her like a vice all day. Today was the day, after all; her 'not-date' with Mick. Francine had asked after Fangmeyer many times, seeing the tiger practically bristling at a mere gust of wind. Not wanting to give Francine any more of a reason to tease her, Fangmeyer just said that she was excited for more of Mick's cooking and that her attraction to fish was a 'pred thing'. Though as Fangmeyer washed herself she decided it was time to accept the fact that it may not be just his cooking Fangmeyer liked about Mick. Sure, the dingo's skill with a kitchen was a marvellous feature, but the sheer absurdity of his character was quite… entertaining. Hopping out of the shower, Fangmeyer started patting herself down with a towel to dry off; the one thing about winter she hated was how much fur she had to dry. Finishing the marathon effort of drying herself, Fangmeyer strutted to her wardrobe, mulling over what outfit she could live with if she got a few food stains on it; must always be prepared for a good feed.

Finally, Fangmeyer examined herself in the mirror one last time. She was bathed, clothed, perfumed just slightly and brushed to a smooth sheen. Pleased with herself, Fangmeyer was about to walk out the door before looking at her watch.

6:06 PM

She was to meet him at 7.

"I guess a bit of TV won't hurt," Fangmeyer sighed, dropping herself onto her couch.

As time flew, Fangmeyer began to feel an ill anxiety rising in her gut; she just couldn't take the waiting. Deciding it was high time to take the scenic route to Mick's, Fangmeyer made a beeline to her car and set off.

As she took the exit into the Rainforest District, the ill feeling she felt before had begun to subside. She loved the District; growing up here was one of the few true blessings she counted. The trees, the temperature, the sheer natural beauty: all of it just clicked with her and could ways put her mind at ease. Leaving it for Savannah Square had been a rough transition; one that had left her with nearly a month of sleepless nights and a gnarly temper.

Maybe this'll be a good reason to visit District more often, she thought to herself.

When she arrived and found a park, Fangmeyer hastily jumped out of the car, slammed the door and locked it and began to make her way to Mick's apartment. Finally reaching the door, Fangmeyer almost started to knock before she stopped herself. She had never felt nerves like these before, especially not around a male. Dismissing these thoughts, she took a quick breath to calm herself and finally knocked. Hearing a clattering of kitchenware and the sound of footpads on wood making their way over to her was a sound Fangmeyer was glad to hear; dinner sounded like it was being made.

Opening the door, Mick looked up to his larger tiger friend and gave a toothy smile.

"Hey Fang, glad ya could make it!" he said, gesturing for her to enter. Smiling back, she squatted her way past the doorframe and into the much larger room as the scent of what was cooking on the stove made its way to her. She could tell it wasn't what he had made for her earlier, but whatever it was smelt divine.

The first thing she noticed about the room was the change of… scenery. There were piles of boxes stacked up on different walls around the living room, bedroom and kitchen. Whatever the Canid had brought, he did so in large quantities.

Gesturing to the stools by the kitchen bench, Mick made his way to the fridge and pulled out two bottles of beer.

"Drink?" he asked as he took out a bottle opener.

"Please."

Taking the drink, she took a quick swig to calm her nerves further. This night wasn't going to be ruined by her fear, and some alcohol would greatly assist with that.

As Mick went back to the stove to finish cooking the meal, Fangmeyer noticed something about his muzzle. He had a tuft of his fur on either side of his chin bound into a small braid by small ringlets with some sort of design emblazoned on them.

"Hey, uh, Mick?" Fangmeyer asked.

"Yeah Fang?"

"What's that you've got on your muzzle?"

Reaching to touch the ringlets, Mick's eyes suddenly lit up in realisation.

"Oh! You guys don't wear these over here, I nearly forgot! Yeah, it's nothing special, just some bling, really."

"Some jewellery?" Fangmeyer asked. "Why would you wear jewellery?"

"Why do some women wear earrings?"

"To look nice?"

"And don't I just look ravishing."

Chuckling, Fangmeyer took another sip. "Though I must say, it doesn't look too bad. Is that just a guy thing or do women do it too?"

"That question, my friend, can be answered over dinner," said Mick as he began to plate up what he was cooking. Fangmeyer was secretly hoping that it was whatever she had a week ago; if it wasn't broken, don't fix it. As her eyes and nose caught the new dish, she was quick to change her opinion; grilled fish.

It had been nearly a decade since Fangmeyer had had the pleasure of experiencing a proper fillet of fish; when her family had celebrated her graduating high school. She counted that night as one of the best of her life, but looking down at the new fillet, char-grilled with greens and a black sauce drizzled over it, all she could think of was how GOOD it looked. With her paw moving as carefully as possible so not to break the incredible willpower needed not to go savage on the food, she picked up a fork, took a chunk, and tucked in.

Merciful Gods. Fangmeyer thought, helping herself to another piece.

No doubt about it, I'm coming here more often.

Finally cleaning the plate with both fork and tongue, Fangmeyer simply leaned back as far as she dared on the miniature chair and sighed in contentment.

"Well," Mick began, finishing of his own fillet. "You seem quite pleased."

"Oh, pleased is an understatement," Fangmeyer replied, licking her teeth and lips.

"Put this out on the street and you'd have crashed the market on party drugs."

"Well I'm glad someone likes my cooking! So, you want some questions answered?"

Finally coming down after her 'food high', Fangmeyer clicks her claws in recollection.

"Ah, that's right," Fangmeyer said, resuming her beer. "So, is it just the fellas who wear those nifty ringlets?"

"Okay I'll need you to keep an open mind about this before I start, alright?" Mick asked, tone becoming slightly sterner in tone.

Suddenly intrigued, Fangmeyer began leaning forward, towards Mick.

"As long as it's not illegal in Zootopia, I'm all ears."

"Well," began Mick, starting a second beer, tossing Fangmeyer hers.

"I'll first need to fill you in on our history. I'll abridge it for you."

"Ancestral Barreners prided themselves on their art of war. Who could fight the hardest, kill the most and die the best. The Barrens were initially a series of prison camps for the World's criminals, from theft to murder, and since you're a proud cop I'm sure you've heard of 'honour amongst thieves'? Well, once the prisons became much larger, they each staged an escape attempt that claimed the lives of many, both captors and captives. Each prison group formed something similar to a 'pack', which would've been closer to a clan than an actual pack, but I'm sure they didn't care at the time."

Fangmeyer had heard the Great Barrens started off as a prison camp, but she never really made the effort to find out how the Barreners became the civilisation it is today.

"So these 'packs', consisting of mammals ranging from wolves and lions to antelopes and sheep, set up camp elsewhere and began raiding settler establishments hard enough and frequently enough to scare them back to their homelands. While the packs survived thanks to the native species like kangaroos and koalas, their gunpowder supplies didn't. Since almost all of the dirt and rocks you'll see in the Dead Centre of the Barrens contains iron, a pack's armoury consisted solely of all sorts of melee weaponry, which they put to good use, raiding and pillaging other packs."

This sounded about right to Fangmeyer. From the stories her Grandmother told her, Barreners were notorious for their affinity for sharp objects and kitchen knives.

"From there, packs became larger with time, eventually inter-mingling with the natives leading to the shift in accent and dialect."

"Pardon me for interrupting," Fangmeyer excused herself. "Just so I'm clear on this, dingos are natives right?"

"Actually a fun little fact, right, is that we're not truly native. Apparently our ancient, ancient ancestors were from central or South Aislan," Mick explained, a certain pride and fondness for his history appearing in his voice.

"Hey, I'm from there too! Well, ancestrally that is," Fangmeyer exclaimed, shocked to find yet another feature that made Mick so intriguing.

"Small world I guess! Well, anyway, pack warfare began happening at a larger rate, fuelled by native land claims and prisoner hostility. The early warfare is the reason we drink so much, us Barreners. We are bound to drink in celebration or in peacetime. I'd wager a good majority of Barreners would argue carousal is the national sport of the Barrens instead of rugby."

That explains it, thought Fangmeyer who chuckled at what now was becoming nearly one hundred and twenty years of peacetime.

As we fought, so did our savagery, but our spirit also grew. Packs fought and fought and fought until the only reason why we fought was to celebrate with a hearty brew. Clan leaders got together and organised a treaty, and that's the bulk of our history right there!" Mick finished.

"Wow, I'm impressed," Congratulated Fangmeyer, slowly clapping her paws.

"Seems you're a poison AND history buff."

"Hey, I try!" replied Mick, a hearty chuckle bellowing from his chest. Putting his beer down on the table, Mick began to take off his ringlets, passing them to Fangmeyer to examine.

"These ringlets are what males get for completing their two years of service. Females receives piercings."

Wait, service?

"Service, like, ARMY service?" Asked Fangmeyer incredulously. The only time she'd heard of anyone personally doing such a thing was of her Grandfather, nearly seventy years ago, in another continent.

"Yeah, when I said Barreners loved their art of war, I meant it. Two years of training in the army after completing high school and you're free. Hell, if you work overseas, they even send you a small stipend. The packs all agree that it'd be nice to have each and every countryman serve at least one in their lives and be trained. Every modern Barrener knows that there won't be a war for a long time to come, so there's no risk to your life by completing the service. Besides, you get some neat-looking bits of jewellery adorned with your pack's and your town's runes! Well, that and some pretty intense combat training."

Examining the little rings, Fangmeyer could make out the designs on the outside. It was beautiful, in it's own subtle way.

"So what pack do you belong to then, Mick?" Asked Fangmeyer, handing the ringlets back, a grin on her muzzle.

"Iorskrund's pack," Mick replied, fiddling with his muzzle fur and the rings.

"He was a gnarled old wolf we're told. Despite our origins, we've quite the creative streak."

"Creative streak?"

"Iorskrund's developed modern Wi-Fi and the gumboot billy!" Mick explained proudly, teeth showing through his wide smile.

"Okay Wi-Fi I'm impressed with, but what the Hell's a gumboot billy?"

"A bong made out of a gumboot," Mick replied, expression unchanged.

Fangmeyer released a long and strained sigh, using her paws to cover her face to try and hide her amusement. Moment's later she simply burst out in thunderous laughter, voice reverberating throughout the living room. Calming down, Fangmeyer took a deep breath, and continued their conversation. Their chat went on for some time before Fangmeyer departed, smile never leaving her muzzle until well after she fell asleep. They had agreed to meet again soon and trade stories about each other while Mick would cook. As Mick went to bed, he sighed contently.

'Truly', he thought. 'This was the right idea.'


	7. Chapter 7

It was nearing the third month of Fangmeyer and Mick's strange dining and drinking relationship. Sometimes Fangmeyer would crash at Mick's after a long shift on the beat, or Mick would stay overnight at Fangmeyer's if he had an early start at the labs. This cycle would continue for weeks at a time, the two migrating between apartments as Mick made his food, while Fangmeyer chipped in for ingredients and booze.

Winter was encroaching over Zootopia, with residents beginning to bundle up and seek warmth amongst each other and what remained of the sunlight. Making her way to her car, Fangmeyer shivered in the chilled air.

Colder than last year, for sure, she thought to herself. I can't even bear to think how Frankie's doing without any fur.

As Fangmeyer drove along the long, twisting roads of the Rainforest District, she noticed a near absence of traffic.

Yep, definitely colder than last year, Fangmeyer deducted, turning up her car heater. Like Hell I'd be caught outside in the District just as Winter rolls in.

Approaching the familiar apartment block, Fangmeyer braced herself to get out of the car, the blast of cool air an unwelcome contrast to the heated interior of her car. Grabbing the shopping bag of food and drink, she dashed over to the complex, eagerly awaiting the heat she so desperately craved. Finally arriving outside Mick's apartment, she knocked on the door hurriedly, mouth beginning to salivate in anticipation for more of his cooking. As the door opened, Fangmeyer's mouth swung open at the sight in front of her; at the door wasn't Mick, but a portly creature seemingly made of entirely jackets, jumpers and all manners of winter clothing.

"I- Mick?" Fangmeyer stuttered.

The creature only made a wide beckoning gesture as it gave a muffled 'mmph'.

As the pair made it inside, the creature took the scarf and beanie from its face to reveal the less-than-jolly face of Mick, eyes swollen and nose glistening.

Fangmeyer couldn't help herself. She began laughing uproariously at the scene before her.

"Oh, Gods Mick, you look ridiculous! Why're you dressed like that? I mean it's becoming Winter and all, but this is rather excessive."

A grin slowly appearing on his muzzle and Fangmeyer laughed, eventually chuckling as well.

"Turns out District Winters can be quite harsh when compared to Barren winters."

"While I'm sure that's true, wouldn't you at least have your winter coat by now?"

From what little head Fangmeyer could see, she was sure Mick was starting to blush.

"I- uh – well, it's summer in the Barrens right now, yeah? So, uh, I… got clipped for summer just before I left…"

Fangmeyer couldn't help it. She began laughing at the Dingo's expense once again.

"Damn, Mick how thick can you get?" asked the tigress, holding her sides as she cackled and laughed.

"Hey, fuck off I forgot!" Mick said indignantly. "I mean I GUESS I can't cook anything for you, what with this cold," Mick said, trying to bluff his friend.

"Ohhh no you don't," Fangmeyer said, bringing her toothy grin closer to Mick's muzzle. "You can't bluff me with that. It's either you cook for us, or we join a suicide pact and let me cook."

"Surely your cooking can't be that bad. I mean you always say that whenever I offer to teach you."

"I technically sent Francine to hospital this one time."

"Technically sent her?"

"She thought she lost her ability to taste, so we went to the hospital to check it out. Doctor said it'd pass in a day or two; no permanent damage."

This was more than enough to spur the dingo into action.

"Okay, fine. But I hope you brought a little summin' summin' to clear this sinus of mine."

Reaching into one of her grocery bags on the bench top, she took out a long glass bottle filled with a bronze liquid, showcasing it to the canine with a knowing grin on her face.

Snatching the bottle, Mick tore off the lid and took a swig, gasping as it went down, eyes wide.

"Oath ME, that hit the spot. Fang, you're too good to me; bringing whiskey to a Winter's meetup was your best idea yet."

Taking a deep breath from his nose, he took Fangmeyer's bags from the bench and got to work.

The night went as it had done for months; the pair talked about work, their discoveries, their triumphs and their failures. Mick would always be enraptured by Fangmeyer's tales of action and mystery from cases she'd taken on over the years, and Fangmeyer loved how much care Mick put into his work and how much interest he took, and truth be told she found the whole concept of a psycho-plant really quite interesting too.

As the two talked and ate, Fangmeyer could see something was wrong with Mick; his gesture became less and less wide, his voice became huskier and she could swear she heard the sound of chattering teeth. It was evident the cold weather mixed with his fever was giving him to quarter, even with the heating system trying its best. The pair had emptied the whiskey bottle nearly an hour ago and her eyes began to start feeling the effects. Mick had nearly kept to his glass (and at some points the bottle) like and infant to a teat, drinking greedily, seemingly to warm his core as best he could; but with all the firewater gone, he was starting to slow down. She really didn't like how he looked, in fact she was getting more and more worried the more he showed.

"H-hey Fang," Mick chattered to his police friend, who was seemingly lost in thought.

"Ye-what? Hm?" bumbled Fangmeyer, leaving of her train of thought. "Whassup?"

"'S not that late, yeah? Y'up for a movie?"

Didn't sound like a bad idea to her.

"Yeah, sure. Any action movies?"

"I've got Zooflix, so, yeah nah just take your pick," slurred Mick making his way to the pantry.

"Whoa there cowpup, settle down. I'll fetch the goodies, just go set yourself down on that couch o'er there," offered Fangmeyer, barring Mick from continuing.

"And they say chivalry is dead. My thanks madam," Mick said with a posh accent, bowing as best he could with multiple layers of clothing.

As Fangmeyer stumbled back with a bowl and some chips, she spotted Mick hunched over the remote and hand over his mouth in contemplation, looking over the selection of movies.

"Found anything?" Fangmeyer asked, pouring the chips.

"I'm pretty soused right now so I've not a clue. Do you know any movie that we can just watch and not need a brain?"

"Ha! Yeah, I've just the thing."

Taking the remote from Mick, Fangmeyer put on her movie, something about a terrorist attack and a group of soldiers doing heroic deeds; Mick couldn't really tell but it seemed brainless enough.

As the two watched the film in their stupor, Fangmeyer could feel the couch gently shaking. Looking over, she saw Mick shivering quite violently, eyes not leaving the screen.

I mean, this is just so he can warm up, thought Fangmeyer as she moved closer to the dingo, wrapping a muscular arm around him. Nearly jumping, Mick turned to look at her in surprise.

"Don't worry bud, m'not gonna bite you," reassured Fangmeyer. "Just getting you warm is all."

Too tired to talk back, Mick simply got comfortable and began to slowly nestle in.

Fangmeyer could feel the shivers begin to fade the longer she held him and she felt… nice.

As the movie ended, Mick let out a loud and drawn out yawn, smacking his lips after, prompting Fangmeyer to do the same.

"S'not a bad movie, Fang. Well it is, but it looked c-cool at least," said Mick as he started stretching. "Bed's b-been made and it's-s all yours when you want it. Just lemme fetch a pillow and I'll cop the couch."

"Um, no you won't," Fangmeyer said sternly. "You're sick as shit and staying out on a couch will do you no favours. Come, you're taking the bed."

"Sorry to deny you Fang, but this couch can barely hold your leg, let alone your entire body."

Taking the bundled canine, she carried him to his room. "Yeah no way I'd sleep on that couch. You're coming with me."

As the gears in his head finally started to turn, Mick gasped. "Whoa, w-whoa, wait on. Are you s-sure you're comfortable with sharing a-a bed?"

"Hell yeah I'm comfortable with it. You've got a good bed," Fangmeyer said nonchalantly while shedding her jacket.

"That's n-not what I meant…" Mick relented as he took of the bulky ski jacket on the top of his mound of clothing and lying down on the mattress.

"Alright Mick, you take the left and I'll take the right. Just face the other way and it'll be fine, alright?"

Nodding an 'I guess so', Mick followed Fangmeyer into bed and got comfortable.

While Mick practically passed out as soon as he closed his eyes, Fangmeyer was having a great deal letting sleep claim her. Mick's intermittent shivers were vibrating the bed and kept her up and looking over he shoulder, she spotted him almost balled up. Whatever fever he had was a doozy, and it made Fangmeyer glad that diseases didn't tend to cross the species barrier. However the sight of her friend struggling to retain heat didn't sit well with her; well, that, and she needed her 'beauty' sleep. After considering it for a brief moment, Fangmeyer slowly turned over, trying not to rouse the sleeping dingo, and pulled his back into her chest. While he at first began to squirm, Mick began to settle down and eventually nestled himself into Fangmeyer's embrace. Just as planned, Mick's shivers died down, and with that, Fangmeyer began to doze off.

The two of them had the most comfortable sleep they've had in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, still getting used to AO3. Expect another chapter shortly


	8. Chapter 8

Mick was having one of those mornings. The sheer warmth he was experiencing, mixed with the chill of the air around his bed made for a situation he really didn't want to face. For a moment, he opened his eyes to peek around at his surroundings. For one, he was at home, in his own bed, which was nice; wasn't the first time he was relieved he hadn't found himself elsewhere. However when he tried to shimmy out of his doona, he found that he couldn't move due to the presence of two furry, muscular arms keeping him in place.

Ah, yeah that's right, Mick thought, memories from last night trickling into place. Slowly, he pried Fangmeyer's fingers apart, releasing himself from the warm embrace, much to his hesitation. As Mick slowly stood up, he found that he wasn't dizzy.

Must be a bit better, he concluded, making his way to the kitchen. Putting on a fresh pot of coffee, Mick took out a clean pan, looked to his stocked pantry and smiled.

Yeah, she'll appreciate this.

This first thing Fangmeyer felt as she began to slowly rouse from her sleep was the feeling of absence; like something was missing. Fondling around the other side of the bed, her paws landed on a patch of mattress that was cooler than her own.

Not mine, she thought groggily. Who's then?

Forcing her eyes open, she looked around, finding herself in a semi-familiar environment.

Mick's bed, not the first time I've been here. What's wrong then?

Slowly peeling off the covers to adjust herself to the biting chill of the air, Fangmeyer slowly forced herself to stand, eyes squinting from the light flooding the room from the door. Shuffling over, she could smell it: the constantly appetising aroma of Mick's culinary endeavours. Slowly, Fangmeyer made her way out of the small doorframe and grunted, trying to catch the dingo's attention.

"Coffee's brewing. Plunge at your leisure," was all he said, gesturing to a coffee pot with a colourful mitt over it.

Shuffling over to the pot, Fangmeyer quickly went to work making herself a nice and strong black, perfect for actually waking a mammal up. Finally back up to speed, Fangmeyer could make out what Mick was making; he had two pans heated, one he cracked eggs into, and another where he grilled fish. The tiger would consider herself forever blessed to have found someone willing to cook for her and her titanic hunger; with Francine being an average cook at best, it had really limited her options.

"So," Fangmeyer began, hands clutching her mug, conserving heat.

"How're you feeling now?"

Taking the eggs and fish out of their respective pans and onto plates, serving the pair, he let out a relaxed sigh.

"Considering how garbage I felt last night, today's a definite improvement. Don't need thirteen jackets on me at all times," he said, a chuckle following suit.

"Gotta say, Fang, I appreciate the, uh, cuddle session last night. Probably saved me from something akin to hypothermia at the point I was at."

Fangmeyer let out a surrendered sigh. No time like the present to confront something like this.

"No Mick, it was my pleasure. Though I'm sorry I practically dragged your sorry arse into bed with me. I wasn't in the mood to provide TLC at the time," she said, graciously accepting the loaded plate.

"No apologies necessary. As I said, you saved me a world of shite; least I can do is continue to make you a meal," Mick replied, letting out a chuckle at the tiger's expense.

Satisfied with the response, Fangmeyer began to chow down, not letting a single piece of food to escape her ravenous maw. As sure as ritual, after breakfast was had and well-wishes were made, the tiger left the dingo to himself. Checking the wall calendar by the sink, Mick made sure he wasn't rostered on today, flashing a gleeful grin when he wasn't. Slowly he made his way back to his bed and hopped in to where Fangmeyer had slept the night before. Snuggling down and taking a deep breath, Mick let sleep claim him.

Later that afternoon, Fangmeyer dashed out of the house, alerted by Francine impatiently tooting her car's horn outside on the street. Finally inside the warmth of the car and her uniform, the tiger let out a content sigh.

"You seem quite chipper today. Have a good night?" asked the elephant, eyebrows dancing.

"Oh, yes Francine it was magical. First he carved my likeness into a slab of gold using nothing but a butterknife and a rubber mallet, then he asked my paw in marriage for what I think may now be the seventh time he's done so," replied Fangmeyer, paws clasped beside her head, voice airy with exaggerated affection.

"No need to be rude Fangy, I was just curious. Can't your best friend inquire about your night with a devilishly handsome fellow who cooks like a seasoned grandmother? Actually speaking of which, tell ol' Mick that Francine expects another dinner; the first was too good for a teaser."

"Yes, Mistress, I'll do just that Mistress," droned Fangmeyer, a small smirk betraying her performance.

As the pair throttled along the highway; Mick, still in his cocoon of cotton, was abruptly forced awake by the blaring of his ringtone.

"Hm? This is Warre," Mick droned groggily.

"Mick? It's Charlotte. Dave's gotten the flu. Hard. We need you in for the late shift," asked the voice, voiced rushed in a slight panic.

"Yeah, it's fine Charlotte, I'll be in soon, just cool your jets," Mick said, massaging his eyes on the vain hope of waking up faster.

"Really? Excellent! We'll see you soon!"

With a sigh, Mick got up and prepared for the surprise shift. Quickly making a sandwich and collecting his briefcase, he made a mad dash out of his complex and towards the train station to ward off the wintery chill.

Nearly as soon as Mick opened the door to his team's laboratory, he was immediately set upon by an older ewe, bags under her eyes.

"Mick! Thank the Gods you're here! I don't know how much longer I could hold out for!" said the ewe, practically screaming at him with eyes wide with relief.

"Charlotte how long have you been on-shift for?" asked Mick, cocking an eyebrow.

"I think this was my 36th hour… 28th? I don't know, Mick, I lost count last night; but now that you're here I'm free!"

Taking the ewe by the shoulders, Mick began to shake her out of her delirium.

"Charlotte you've got to take smaller shifts if you get like this every time it happens. It's not like we get paid by the hour," Mick explained, trying to placate the sleep-deprived sheep.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever Warre. Let me hail a zuber and I'll be out of your hair and into my husbands in no time!" she exclaimed, suddenly reinvigorated and dashing out the door.

Trying to subdue his laughter, he quickly made his way to his desk to drop off his work. Grabbing a coat from the rack next to his computer, he slung it on and got ready to work. Just as he was preparing to don a gas mask, he spotted a springbok come through the door, hefting multiple boxes of doughnuts and a case of energy drinks through the front door. Quickly making his way to the encumbered prey, Mick grabbed a few boxes and carried them to the break room.

"Thanks Mick, appreciate it," gasped the springbok, evidently spent from carrying all the sugary treats.

"Didn't expect you here Kirk; wasn't Sam the neurologist on duty tonight?" Mick asked, paw brushing away the thanks.

"Yeah, but apparently his kid's sick with the flu going around and had to stay home," said Kirk, cracking a can of the energy drink and taking multiple large swigs.

"The kid's sick too? Damn, it seems everyone's getting it now. Dave has it, and I'm recovering. Won't be long 'till it's your turn, hey?" Asked Mick, ribbing the springbok and an elbow.

"I would be so lucky! They've been running the biol team like tractors; I was lucky to even get more time off the get these doughnuts. Though I think admin's taking pity on us with the weather and all."

"Well," began Mick, grabbing a doughnut from the large stack in front of him. "If that's the case, I guess we'd best get started. And speaking of which, I'm almost done with a gift for your team. I'm trying to isolate different compounds in the nighthowler so you guys can figure out what can and can't be diluted safely."

"Could you actually? There are only so many simulations you can watch of the serum absorbing into the bloodstream before you lose the will to live. I need the challenge."

Finishing his doughnut and donning the gas mask once more, Mick walked backwards into the chem team's lab, thumbs up, winking at Kirk.

"You're damned welcome, my friend!" he said before going to work.

As Mick worked and researched and slogged and measured, the time flew right by him; minutes turned to hours and those hours began to spell the end of his shift. Just before he hung up his coat to leave, his phone vibrated to signal a message:

Fang: Off shift in a half hour. Want to catch """""breakfast""""" with Hopps and I?

Confused at with the word 'breakfast', he looked at his watch.

3:30AM. Huh, He thought.

Me: yeah i'll pop by. Just finished my own shift. What about rabbit's betrothed?

Fang: Nick's got paperwork to do. And please tell me you won't say 'betrothed' to her face. I hear rabbits can die if you spook them well enough.

Me: no promises :^^^^^^^^^^)

Fang: Changed my mind you're not welcome

Me: fuck off

Fang: No, you

Laughing heartily at the exchange, he nabbed the last of the energy drinks and donned his coat, making his way to the exit. He could do with a quick nosh, and after last night, he was really feeling the need to be around Fangmeyer again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plans are in motion to overhaul this story, and I plan to have that done soon enough, keep an eye keen on this story


	9. Chapter 9

"Officers!" Chief Bogo's booming voice came reverberating through the doorway as he entered the bullpen.

"I would wish you all a good morning, but that would be a lie, and as you all are aware, I do not like to lie. What I will tell you is that you all are to continue with whichever case you were part of yesterday, be it homicide, theft or parking duty. Officers Fangmeyer and Trunkaby, report to my office in half an hour."

As soon as the gruff buffalo left the room, chatter between the officers resumed, some pleased, some indifferent, and some, like Officer Wilde whose head was in his paws, were quite displeased. This very fact pleased Fangmeyer to no end; this was Wilde's third day on patrol in a row, and it seemed to be getting on his nerves.

"Carrots…" Nick grumbled, mouth obstructed by his paws.

"Yeah Slick?" replied Judy, a covert smirk barely visible on her lips.

"If this happens again tomorrow I want you to shoot me, "Nick said, pointing to his temple.

"Right here, preferably."

"I'm not shooting you Nick; who would fetch me doughnuts in the morning?" replied the rabbit innocently.

"I'll pop you one in the leg if you want Wilde," said Fangmeyer as she and Francine came over to sit on either side of the pair.

"It'd get you off weeks of work and it would be my absolute pleasure."

"Oh I wouldn't be the one to ruin your, uh, fun, Stripes," mumbled the fox.

"Oh, yeah, why would The Gruffalo want to see you two?"

"Nick!" Scolded Judy, punching him in the arm.

"Ha! No, we're not getting reprimanded for anything Wilde, so don't get excited just yet. This probably has something to do with the information we received about that corrupt CEO, Grover Johns."

"Who now?" asked Nick, rubbing his arm gingerly.

"You know," said Francine, unconsciously waving her trunk in thought. "That lion we've been trying to nab for laundering and trafficking. Wolford's been talking about him for weeks; apparently he was the one who started the investigation, but you know how he gets…"

"Big dog and his tall tales alright…" mumbled Fangmeyer, squeezing the bridge of her snout.

"Yeah, he may have been part of the team charged with gathering the intelligence but it us who started this whole thing!" huffed Francine indignantly, trunk raised in annoyance.

"And I bet he'll be riding this wave out for another month or five," Fangmeyer sighed.

"Hey Frankie we ought to head now, getting close to time."

"Oh! We'll see you two lovebirds later, okay?"

The pair left the blushing bunny and chuckling fox to their lonesome as they made their way towards the precinct's most hated office. Just before Fangmeyer could knock, a bellowing 'enter' caught the pair off guard. As they entered, Chief Bogo removed his glasses and set them down aside, clasping his hooves in front of his face.

"You wanted to see us sir?" Asked Francine delicately.

"I did, yes, and no you two aren't in strife. Yet," said the gravelly buffalo.

"I want you two to go home for now, and get as much rest as you can. Since it was you two who started this whole ordeal investigating Mr Johns, you'll be on duty staking out his apartment complex tonight. Reports show that he plans to meet with a contact at some point during the night, and if you can tail him to wherever he's meeting with this client, our SWAT teams can arrest him quickly and easily."

"Aye sir," said the pair in unison.

"This is the dossier surrounding tonight's events. Not much to go over: stay out of sight, stay incognito and report all strange goings-on immediately. I expect the both of you back here to start at 1800 hours, got it?" Explained Bogo, waving his hoof over the folder on his desk.

"Aye sir," repeated the pair, saluting the chief and walking out.

As soon as the door closed, Francine let out a mighty groan and grasped Fangmeyer by the shoulders.

"Faaaangy… I hate stakeouts… Can we not do this?" Asked the bemoaning elephant.

"No can do, babe. And besides, when's a little quality time with your gal pal ever gone wrong?" said Fangmeyer, trying to placate her partner.

"I lost my ability to taste for too long of a time." Came the deadpan reply.

"Hey come on it wasn't that bad," said Fangmeyer, feverishly chuckling at the response.

"My brother came by with a pie that I didn't know at the time had trace amounts of dish soap in it just so he could test out whether I could taste it. I couldn't, Fang!"

"I apologised Frankie! And I won't be cooking you anything tonight, alright? It'll be fun! We can gossip as much as you like?"

Mulling this over for a brief period, Francine finally caved, agreeing with the tiger, following her to the car park.

-Meanwhile-

"Cheers for inviting me over, Rod. I needed a reason to leave work early," said Mick, ribbing the ram next to him with his elbow as the pair walked down the streets of Savannah Central.

"Oh ha ha, Mr scientist-type. I know you just missed my company. And whether or not you could've come, Hilda would've made it, uh, possible," said Rod, a chuckle on his lips.

"So that's the name of this mysterious lady friend of yours, huh? I'm glad she invited me for dinner before I went and got take out, but I really didn't need a "thanks for saving my man" feast. I got some lamb out of it anyway!" Mick laughed.

"Urgh, please don't say that. Hilda says it so often that it just sounds weird when others do," Rod said, a shiver running down his spine.

Huh, Mick thought.

What an odd thing for a couple of sheep to say.

As the two continued down, Rodney finally tapped Mick on the arm and pointed towards an apartment block, taking out his keys. As they reached Rod's door, Mick heard what he thought was someone bounding to get to the door. As the lock rattled and the door swung open, two large, grey arms shot out and snatched the caprine from Mick's side in an instant, taking him into the embrace of an enormous timber wolf.

"Ah, you are here Rodney! And you!" bellowed the larger canine, a wide smile on her snout.

"You are the vun who saved my ram! Come inside, there is food and mead inside. Or beer, if that is your preference."

Hilda, thought Mick, jaw slack from sheer surprise. This must be Hilda.

Walking into the room, it was evident that the wolf and ram had been together a while, with the living room sporting furniture of different sizes and what he could only guess was a surplus of woollen blankets.

Entering the dining room at the wolfess' behest, Mick saw that the table was set, with vegetables and fish stacked neatly in the middle. The awed dingo simply walked over to the nearest table setting, eyes firmly glued on the spread before him; all of it looked absolutely amazing.

"My canid brother!" came Hilda's deep, northern voice. "Vhat drinks can ve interest you in? Rodney mentioned the first thing you clung to after your little stunt vas a beer! Come, come and have a look at what we have."

With that, Mick did as the wolfess suggested; the selection of brews were dizzying, but he managed to pick something out, much to Hilda's delight and Rodney's mild embarrassment and pride in his partner. As the trio finally tucked in to the feast, Hilda stopped eating for a moment.

"Apologies Mick, but I forgot vhat species you are. You are too short to be Ulv [wolf], and I'm short on clues."

"Oh, uh, I'm a dingo, from the Barrens, way down south from here. I can only guess by your accent that you're from up North?"

"You guess correctly, but the Barrens you say? You have heard of Iorskrund, correct?"

Caught off guard by the question, Mick sputtered on his beer.

*hack * "Y-yes, actually, he was a founder of the Barrens, how did yo- oh yeah, both from the North, I see."

Looking over at Rodney, a knowing grin on both their faces, Hilda faced Mick again.

"Vell my family's genealogy would suggest that ve are descendants of a mister Iorskrund."

Mick's jaw hit the ground in complete astonishment, turning to Rod.

"You knew?" Mick asked, looking for answers in the Ram's smiling muzzle.

"Well, yeah, Mick. I wouldn't be much of a boyfriend if I didn't know all the fun stuff about my girlfriend."

Mick began to giggle energetically, claws drumming against the table.

"Wow, it's like meeting a celebrity! I guess that would explain your height, we were told Iorskrund was a sizeable fella. Can I have a photo with you? My mates would FLIP."

"Only if my dear sauvenn [sheep friend] doesn't mind," said Hilda gently, nuzzling against Rod.

"'Course not. Not like you'd stop me from having a photo with Gazelle."

"Bludig geit…" mumbled the wolf.

As the trio laughed, ate and drank together, time flew by them, soon bringing the night to a close.

"I had a great time tonight guys I appreciate it," said Mick, making his way to the door, followed by the odd couple.

"Least we could do for you saving my pelt," said Rodney, waving Mick off.

"Indeed! It vas our pleasure, so let's try and do it again, ja?" bellowed the wolfess, smacking Mick's back good-naturedly, nearly throwing him to the floor.

Waving off his hosts, Mick quickly made his way down the stairs to meet with his cab. On the drive back, he couldn't help but think what his tiger friend was up to.

-Meanwhile-

"Never have I ever, kissed someone in school for something stupid in return," said Francine reading off her phone.

Of the pair, only the elephant raised her trunk, resulting in the sly grin from Fangmeyer.

"Oh what, it was a really rare trading card," said Francine, defending her honour.

"Do you still have it?" inquired the tiger.

"Fuck no, gave the game up a few weeks later!" replied Francine, as the pair broke into uproarious laughter.


	10. Chapter 10

"Okay, okay, my turn," giggled Fangmeyer, taking a sip from her fourth coffee for the night.

"Never have I ever… gotten with an old school crush."

The pair both put their arms up, giggling at each other like schoolgirls.

"Alright Frankie, ladies first!" said Fangmeyer, playfully knocking her much larger friend in the shoulder.

"Yeah, a lady is what I am and you aren't. Well back in Elementary, there was this giraffe that all the girls liked. I think he could run really fast and that was pretty much it, but it really didn't matter at the time. Fast forward to the end of Junior year and this guy, who's jumped up a year invites me to his Prom of all mammals. So after a pretty sweet night, I invite him back to mine for some, uh, 'tongue lashing'. Let me be the first to say that a prehensile tongue is better than anything you'll ever think of," declared Francine a blush on her proud face.

Nodding her head in approval, Fangmeyer began to applaud her.

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind next time I see one I fancy. Well for me, I had a crush on this little wolf called Sammy Lycen. He was so short compared to the other wolves, but he could play soccer something fierce. This was back when I was practically a twig so I didn't catch his fancy at the time, but he was one of the reasons I decided to bulk up and make him like me. Few years later, before I joined the force, I met him at a bar. I took him out back and we had a bit of a make-out session before he turned around, vomited into a dumpster and passed out beside it," Fangmeyer explained, holding her head in happy embarrassment.

"Ew, and I bet that was your last attempt at dating before I set you up with that lion, huh?" inquired Francine

"Yep, just couldn't think of why I'd need some shmuck when I could just work my arse off and retire young with a cigar in my mouth, just like in the movies," explained the proud tiger, fists on hips.

"Oh come on, surely you want that someone to hold you as you sleep and to come home to after a long day?"

"I guess, but I've got Mick for that. All that, and the benefit of just being friends."

"Just friends?" inquired Francine, ears open and alert. "Fangy, you two are practically married; he even cooks for you most nights! He's your househusband! Wait, and did you also say he's held you to sleep? This is getting juicy, babe; tell me more!"

"It's not like that Frankie, it's platonic. And he most assuredly did NOT hold me to sleep…" said Fangmeyer, mumbling incoherently.

"I'm sorry Fangy, what was that?" asked Francine, moving her ear towards the furiously blushing tiger. "You'll have to speak up."

"I said he didn't hold me, I held him…" repeated Fangmeyer, hiding her face in her hands from sheer embarrassment.

"Fangy I'm not even going to tease you for that one just because it's so precious. You've got to stop teasing the poor guy and take him out somewhere nice, it's the least he deserves after cooking for your lazy tail for so long," said Francine, laying her trunk over Fangmeyer's shoulders.

"Whatever, fine. But it'll be a friendly thing! Not sure I really want to just hop into a relationship right now," Fangmeyer muttered.

"Fangy, I know it's hard for you to even consider this sort of thing, but just put it this way; if you keep putting it off, it's never going to happen and you're going to be like Ms Bertrand."

"That old goat who calls us every time she loses track of her birdhouse?"

"The very same. Poor dear stayed single all her life because she tried proving a point. Now she has fifteen birds. Do you want fifteen birds, Fang?"

Thinking for a moment, Fangmeyer replied.

"I eat that many in a week, so yes, please."

"I know a guy who can organise that for you," said Francine, eyebrows and ears wobbling suggestively.

"NEVER HAVE I EVER TOLD MY PARTNER TO GO FUCK HERSELF," screamed the red and furious tiger, shooting her paw up, only to punch the roof and wince in pain.

The elephant only chuckled good-naturedly, patting the tiger in the back with her trunk, continuing their game.

Hours had passed since they had started their night vigil, only briefly spotting other mammals. It was a surprisingly meditative time for Fangmeyer: just watching the more nocturnal mammals go about their business, and some younger diurnal mammals enjoy their night together, doing as kids do. The pair had brought along a quiet speaker for music and they decided to pass the time with games. It was honestly a quite enjoyable night for her, despite the fact they were out to get a weapons dealer.

Their night had been largely uneventful, save for Fangmeyer's outburst, but just as the clock ticked over to 2AM, the apartment complex doors they had been stalking began to open, revealing a suspicious-looking lion wearing a hoodie. As soon as she noticed him, Fangmeyer quickly checked the dossier, confirming that this was indeed their mark.

"Francine!" Fangmeyer hissed, tapping the elephant on the ribs, "That's our guy! That's the mark!"

Nodding, Francine waited for the lion to turn a corner before starting the engine. Taking note on which street the lion turned, the pair followed a minute behind him, corner after corner until they reached Downtown, where the lion had turned down an alley. Taking the initiative, Francine pulled over on the other side of the road, just ahead enough to glimpse his conversation with a short, portly and hooded figure. As Fangmeyer began to call the SWAT team, Francine noticed that the lion passed a small package to the figure, no larger than a loaf of bread before the figure dashed off. Barely a minute after finishing her call, the blaring call of a squad of police cruisers and trucks roared throughout the night, signalling the arrival of the ZPD. Almost jumping out of his pelt, Grover Johns, the gun running CEO, fell to his knees as multiple armoured elephants, rhinos and tigers stalked up from both sides of the alleyway.

As the pair watched the lion struggle against the iron grips of the officers guiding him into the truck, a tired-looking Chief Bogo approached them, a tray of coffees in hand. Passing one to each and taking one for himself, he sighed in content.

"Well done, officers. Johns is in irons and the Mayor is no longer breathing down my neck. I want you two to have the next two days off. Paid, of course."

As Fangmeyer simply raised her cup in gratitude before taking large gulps, Francine bowed her head slightly in thanks.

"We appreciate it Chief. Have a good night," was all the tired elephant said before nudging the gently nodding tiger in the head with her trunk.

"You want a lift, Stripy?"

Taking a long, deep breath through her nose and dragging a paw down her face, Fangmeyer finally shook her head.

"Nah, this coffee is going to kick in soon, and I'd like to work it off so I can actually sleep properly tonight. I'm not too far away, so I'll walk, I reckon."

"Yawn. Yeah that's fair; big girl like you'll have a hard time getting jumped. See you when I'm awake in two days time," said Francine groggily as she headed back to her car.

Tigers may be diurnal, but Fangmeyer found that she quite enjoyed a stroll at night (not that she'd ever go out of her way to do so). Walking past the occasional wolf, fox and even a bat, Fangmeyer loved to visit this 'alternate' Zootopia, with the pulsing neon lights of nearby bars and clubs and the soft, warm glow of small diners. This was the side of Zootopia very few diurnal mammals got to see and, while it wasn't exactly an incredible sight, the cosiness it exuded warmed Fangmeyer's belly.

Turning the corner onto her street, she saw what looked like a small wolf drinking from a bottle the size of its head, sitting down with its back against the wall of her complex. Getting closer, she could make out the canine's muzzle fur braids. Mick Warre was taking enormous gulps from a bottle of dark liquor just outside her home.

"Mick?!" Fangmeyer gasped, shocked to see her friend in such a state.

"Aa-hey Fangy!" slurred the dingo, eyes blinking out of sync and words slowly enunciated; he was blitzed.

"What're you doing here? Gods, your breath reeks! How much did you have?" she asked, holding a paw to her face to ward off the stench of alcohol permeating from the dishevelled canine.

"I, well, my co-workers and myself finally make some reeeeal good progress with our research and development with the Nighthowlers. So we all went out to celebrate. I just decided to keep the party going, and checked to see if you were home, realised I have no way in, but this wall got really comfortable so here I am!" Mick slurred, head swaying gently as he spoke.

"Mick, is it really wise to keep on drinking like this? You're absolutely plastered! You could do some serious damage to your liver," Fangmeyer pleaded, her giant paw on his cheek, trying to still his head.

"Nah, not like my liver could get any more scarred," he said, eyes closed as he gestured a paw like it meant nothing.

Fangmeyer froze in her place.

"Scarred? Mick, don't make out like that isn't serious, that could lead to liver failure, or even worse!"

"Fangy, Fangy… It's fine, won't do me any harm. I've not gotten any worse since I got stabbed," he slurred, smile beginning to waver.

Fangmeyer's eyes widened in shock, she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"Mick that was four months ago and you only found out then? We've had so much drink since then! You need to stop right now!" Demanded Fangmeyer, snatching the bottle of rum out of his limp paw and throwing it to the gutter, letting it slowly leak out.

"What the fuck, Fang?! That was mine!" Mick argued. "I told you, I'm fine! If it hasn't killed me yet, it won't for a very long time!"

"Long time? Long time? Mick you've caused possibly irreparable damage to a vital organ; I've seen too many cases that ended up as corpses from the exact same issue. I refuse to let you wind up in a morgue!"

Fangmeyer was yelling at this point, anger beginning to override her worry. This couldn't stand.

"Fang…" said Mick slowly, carefully. "I'll be fine, I won't let this kill me."

'Won't let it kill him,' this was all that rang through her mind. 'Let.'

"Won't let it kill you?! Mick that's that dumbest thing I've ever heard! This isn't something you allow! Don't give me that shit!"

Shaking his head slowly, a frown on his face, Mick sighed.

"Just believe me Fang, OK?"

"I refuse," was all she said, the venom evident in her voice.

"Why's that?"

"I've heard that lie too often and have seen the results too frequently!"

Silence permeated the air as the pair stared at each other with glazed eyes. Soon enough, the rum caught up with Mick as he slowly drifted off to sleep. Seeing this, the tiger, reached for her phone, called a Zuber and directed the driver to wake him up when he got there. As the car zoomed off towards the Rainforest District, the tiger punched the brick wall next to her as hard as she dared, leaving her knuckles bleeding gently. Slowly, she made her way to her apartment, wiping her eyes as she did so.


	11. Chapter 11

Mick felt like he could have slept for hours, and if it hadn’t been the sharp ringing of his alarm blaring in his ears, he probably would have. His head pounded, a dry, tacky taste filled his mouth, and he felt nauseous.

How much did I have last night? He thought, racking his brain for a semblance of a memory, as his actions the night before rushed to him, leaving the cold strike of guilt in his chest. Clutching his head in his paws, he sighed, muttering out only one word:

“Damn.”

He just wanted to lay down and cry, both from the headache and the fact he may have just alienated one of his closest friends over the course of twenty minutes in a drunken argument he never should have picked. Taking a paw, he placed it on his abdomen, just near where he was stabbed, and began massaging it, trying to see if he could feel the scarred organ under his muscle and flesh. As he sat there, on the cusp of tears, shirtless and nursing a hangover, Mick decided he had ought to prepare for work today, not that he particularly wanted to. As he slowly got changed into his work attire, he stared at himself in the cupboard mirror as he did his tie, watching the dishevelled mutt butcher multiple attempts at getting it right. Giving up on doing it now, he walked past the kitchen, only to remember the times he had with Fangmeyer, the pair sitting on the couch, eating his food and sharing their days with each other. Just the thought of potentially never having that again made him nearly throw up. He couldn't let himself think about that now, so he quickly picked up his briefcase and headed out the door as fast as he could.

His ride was largely uneventful; even if he had paid attention. All he could do was think about Fangmeyer and focussing on not breaking down in front of the carriage of passengers simply going about their day.

_You’ll be fine, Mick_ , he thought to himself.

Normally the walk from the train station to the University campus would be a relaxing time for Mick; wandering between the sandstone pillars of the courtyard, lined with trees of many kinds from across the world with students studying, talking and eating beneath them. He didn’t notice them this time as he shuffled along the external hallway surrounding the courtyard, heading towards the Biology Block. As he reached the glass door barring his way to the laboratory, he fetched the key card swinging from a lanyard around his neck and tapped it to the electronic lock, making it flash green. Making his way down the white hallway, he was greeted by a little ewe, walking up to him, clipboard in hoof.

“Goodness, Warre, you look like a dag! Bit too hard on the sauce last night?” she asked, ticking something off on her clipboard.

“Ah, yeah you can say that Charlotte,” Mick said with a weak smile on his face.

“Are you sure? If you’re feeling a bit rusty I could let you rest today? Can’t have you off your game.” Shaking his head, Mick sighed.

“I’m alright, Charlotte, I’ll just have some coffee and I’ll be fine in no time.” Bidding the ewe farewell, he made his way to his little corner of the lab, setting down his briefcase and releasing a sigh. His headache was back in full force, and Mick could only wonder how he was going to get through today without having a fit. Suddenly Mick felt something touch his shoulder, making him yelp in surprise, turning around to see his ‘attacker’.

"Whoa there,” said Kirk, a look of surprise and curiosity on his snout. “You look wrecked, Mick. Everything alright?”

“Yeah Kirk I’m f- I’m Fi- I’m… not fine, Kirk. I feel like shit and I may have just lost a good mate last night.” Kirk was taken aback. Mick not being fine? This was not a situation he was used to.

“Shit, Mick, I-I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?” Kirk asked, patting Mick on the shoulder with a hoof.

“I can’t remember much but I think it was because I tried to convince her I was fine,” Mick mumbled, fiddling with his briefcase in a weak attempt to open it.

“Wait, aren’t you?” Mick shook his head.

“I’ve got a feeling my liver will fail sometime sooner than expected. Doc confirmed 35% or so of my liver is covered in scar tissue. It’s… not in a good place.”

“Damn Mick! Why did you get blasted last night then?”

“I don’t know, really. Maybe I don’t want to let go of being in control of me? Fuck Kirk I don’t know; I just want Fangmeyer back…” Mick sighed, pinching the bridge of his snout, grimacing.

“Look Mick,” Kirk began, “I know this is a bit shit for you now, but you’ll feel better after you think of something else for a while. See how you’re feeling after work today.” Sighing, Mick forced his arms up and to the side, stretching his long neck in the process.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll do that. I mean, what we did yesterday was pretty amazing. It should warrant more work. Hell, we managed to significantly decrease the psychotic aspect of the nighthowler!” Tapping his hooves together nervously, Kirk cleared his throat.

“Well, while that’s true, Charlotte ran some tests and found out that what we have now, while largely safe from psychosis, would likely cause extreme hormone imbalances, delivering a huge adrenaline rush that’ll likely stop the heart of most smaller mammals. Well, that and some other side effects. Probably.”

“Wait, honestly? What caused it? Actually, wait on..." Mick fiddled with his chin beads as he spoke, the gears in his head glad to be grinding at a problem with a knowable solution. "The psychosis component may have utilised the adrenaline to overwrite higher-degree thought; removing them may lead to disuse of the extra adrenaline. It's not much, but it's a start." Giving Mick a well-meaning punch to the shoulder, Kirk began to walk away before Mick called to him.

“And Kirk! Thanks, I’ll see how I go,” nodded Mick in appreciation. Nodding in return, Kirk went about his duty.

Hours had passed before Mick concluded his rough calculations. Contorting his back and neck, Mick let out a ragged sigh as joints popped and stretched under the pressure. While Charlotte had indeed figured out what caused the madness of the nighthowlers. There was probably no way of knowing what getting hit by one meant for the victim. Not that any of them would be willing to try it out. Rubbing his tired eyes, he scanned across the lab, seeking someone. Finally landing on a tired-looking wolf, Mick hopped up from his stool and made his way to the wolf, equations in hand before knocking on the glass door, catching the occupant’s attention.

“Mick!” exclaimed the wolf, his tired eyes widening in surprise as he patted down his matted, grey fur. “You scared the pants off me! You could have knocked!” Rolling his eyes, Mick chuckled.

“That’s what scared you, you dork. Did the pup keep you up last night? You looked absolutely wrecked, Sam.” Massaging his muzzle upwards until he was rubbing the base of his ears, Sam released a long, drawn out yawn.

“Urgh, yeah. Delilah’s been a headache since her flu. She’s not used to being bedridden so she’s letting all that pent-up energy loose these last few days.”

“Kicking up a ruckus is she?” Mick asked, leaning in the desk, prepared for a story.

“That’s one way to put it,” Sam said as he began grabbing loose notes on his desk, sorting them into racks. “She won’t go to bed on time and instead spends her nights either mashing away loudly at her keyboard or dancing in her room; also very loudly. I can barely get shuteye without barking at her to sleep.”

“I bet she’ll be famous one day,” mused Mick as he chuckled at the exhausted father’s rant.

“Oh I hope she will be. And she’d better keep her father in a lifestyle he could, say, ‘become accustomed to’.” The canine pair shared a tired chuckle before Sam noticed the envelope in Mick’s paw.

“Anything you have for me, Mick? Looks like you’ve got some work there that needs doing.” Shifting himself off the desk, Mick passed his package on to the wolf nodding in agreement.

“Yeah; Charlotte pretty much killed the mood surrounding last night’s success. I need to know if the adrenaline factor of the Nighthowlers is caused by anything, and if it can be safely removed.”

“Yeah,” said Sam, fishing out the small stack of papers detailing chemical compounds and cellular constructs. “I reckon I could help out a bit. Could take some time though; it was hard enough to identify the psychosis factor.”

“Awesome mate, I’ll leave you to it.” As Mick stepped out from Sam’s cubicle, He noticed a large Ram loitering outside the entrance to the lab.

“Hey Sam?” called Mick, confusion evident in his voice. “Were we expecting any University faculty tonight?”

“Not to my knowledge; why?” replied Sam, poking his head around the corner.

“Seems like someone’s mucking about outside for some reason.” Mick grumbled.

“I’m sure security will shepherd them off if you call them,” Sam said, waving the situation off before returning to his station. Peering out the glass one last time, Mick hesitantly walked back to his own station. Picking up a clean slide, he sighed before prepping another portion of nighthowler bulb onto it. Just before he had the opportunity to peer into the plant, a sharp crash of broken glass reverberated around the polished walls of the laboratory. Jumping in surprise, Mick rushed to the source, only to be greeted by a group of heavy-coated sheep stepping through the shattered doorway. Snapping out of his stupor, he dashed back to his station as fast as his paws would carry him, ripping his work station’s phone off its cradle, he almost punched in the emergency number as he brought it to his ear.

“This is the Zootopian emergency line, what is-“ began the operator before Mick barked:

“Zootopia University, biology labs; I think we’re under siege or something!” Before he could say anymore, he felt the solid weight of hooves clasp his shoulder as he was thrown away from his station with an astonishing display of strength. Landing hard on his shoulder, he was greeted by the grinning face of an enormous ram bearing over him, before he delivered a swift kick directly onto Mick’s ribs, leaving him coughing and panting for breath.

“Simple mutt,” said the ram brandishing his firearm over Mick’s wheezing body. “Panting like it’s a hot day, aren’t you?” In between his wheezing attempts at breathing, Mick could only let out grunts and curses as he tried to get into some sort of sitting position. Before the ram could land another hit on Mick, a booming voice echoed out from the main laboratory.

“Timmy, you daft bastard get over here!” bellowed a voice from across the lab. Taking one last look at the dingo, straining in the foetal position, ‘Timmy’ grunted and lumbered away towards the voice. As Mick rolled around the ground, clutching his stomach and trying his best not to spew, he could hear the hesitant but defiant voice of Charlotte reprimanding the intruders before it was reduced to muffled cries of defiance. Finally finding the will to stand, Mick steadied his shaking legs; one paw clutching his stomach, and the other clasped on the side of his desk, hefting him up. Thinking for a moment, he looked around the lab. University guidelines required at least 2 fire extinguishers stationed in all laboratories, and Mick was fairly certain one was nearby. Stumbling towards the red cylinder attached to the wall, Mick fumbled with the weight of the hunk of metal as he attempted to bring it to a position where he could swing at a moment’s notice.

_Were they armed?_ He thought. _Surely they are; they took the time to rob a university for land’s sake. Maybe they won’t shoot me on sight. Maybe…_

As he stumbled into the room with his captors, he saw Charlotte struggling against a pair of handcuffs, trying to hurl muffled curses at her captors. A loud banging brought Mick’s attention to Sam’s station as the black wolf managed to throw a small ram off his back, before blindly swinging a punch at the other, missing him entirely. Quickly getting back up, the ram hit Sam square in the gut, causing him to drop to his knees and groan in pain. Before the giant Timmy could reach the hunched Sam, Mick quickly dashed towards his friend and swung the extinguisher into the ram’s woollen head, causing him to whip his head in Mick’s direction before stumbling into a charge; but as soon as his horns came down to deliver a blow, the rest of his body followed, landing on the tiles with a hefty crash. With his tormentor unconscious by his feet, Mick let out a sigh of relief, only to be hit once again in the gut by another charging ram. Letting out a muffled bleat of dismay, Charlotte struggled in vain against the plastic ties binding her hooves behind her back. Wheezing at the absence of air in his lungs, Mick began to crawl towards his cubicle before getting kicked over onto his back by the smaller ram.

“Looking for this, mutt?” sneered the ram, holding up a pellet of purple fluid, similar to the Nighthowler pellets from the news. “Found this in that pred-loving ewe’s office. It was like she made this stuff just for us, isn’t that right Marlot?” The smallest ram that had been momentarily taken down by Samson was wheezing out his chuckle as he eyed the pellet.

“Why don’t you test it out on the little Miss, Sherry?” Marlot said, a pained grin plastering his face, malice blazing in his eyes. “She’s as much of a pred as these two mutts if you ask me.” Stopping to think, ‘Sherry’ finally grinned at Marlot’s proposal walking up to Charlotte as her eyes widened in terror.

“I- wait! N-no, no, no!” fumbled out Mick in between his ragged breaths as he rolled over, coughing.

“What do you want, pred? Can’t stand to see your boss getting 'howlered?” sneered Sherry, walking over to the exhausted dingo.

“Hah… Why do you need to do this? We’ve not done anything!” Begged Mick, anything to buy Charlotte time. If that pellet was formulated off their preliminary findings, she’d likely die of cardiac arrest; her body was just too small to handle the shot of raw adrenaline. Thinking quickly, he fumbled around carelessly as he searched for something, anything that he could throw at the sheep. As his paw landed on a beaker, he recklessly threw it towards Marlot; the chipped glass bouncing harmlessly off the sheep’s bulky wool.

“Did you peg that, mutt?” demanded Marlot, striding over to Mick, grabbing him by his collar with deceptive strength. “Why don’t we just Howler you, then, if you’re so damn rabid already? Sherry! Give me that damn gun!” As Marlot snatched the pistol from Sherry’s outstretched hoof, he jammed it to Mick’s temple and stared him dead in the eyes. “Thank you for your contribution to science, mutt,” Marlot spat at Mick as he pulled the trigger; the barrel of the gun a mere inch off the dingo’s head, making him flinch from the impact.

As Marlot released him and stepped back to observe his handiwork, as Mick’s breathing picked up into a ragged pant as his eyes grew wide and panicked. He began to cough and wheeze as his heart demanded more and more oxygen as it beat harder and harder, leaving Mick a gasping mess, writhing in pain on the ground. Confused, Marlot slowly moved forward to poke Mick with the barrel of the gun, making him snap his head around to face the sheep, grinding his teeth, forcing saliva to spray out in front of him in his fevered breaths. Mick could say nothing but whine in pain as he moved.

“What the… how aren’t you freaking out by now?” Marlot asked, shock evident in his voice at the dingo who could only flail about in front of him.

“N-nnnn-new fo-ooor-mula, sheep,” wheezed Mick as his claws shot out at a blinding pace, cutting at Marlot’s ankles, dropping him down, in front of Mick, who quickly got his bearings and stood up awkwardly. Shivering and twitching as he stood over Marlot, Mick took a wild swipe at his neck, silencing the ram’s desperate bleating. As Mick tried to stand again to face Sherry, he fell to his knees and threw up, gazing at his bloodied claws, tears in his eyes.

“Damn stupid of you Marlot…” muttered Sherry as he raised a baton at Mick, who was beginning to stand up, a mixture of blood and the remaining nighthowler dripping off his head. Eyes wide with panic and energy, Mick dropped to all fours and ran away from his attacker. Considering the state the dingo had left Marlot in, Sherry was taken aback slightly, only to shake his head and cautiously take chase after the addled canine.

Mick had never felt as afraid as he was now. Teetering on the verge of death, while also claiming another’s was sending his mind into a frenzied mess. They had told him he may one day need to take a life but he had hoped that day never came. As he awaited Sherry’s arrival soon, Mick began dashing about the room he found himself in, trying to find ways to bludgeon the ram into submission; he didn’t want to rely on his claws for a very long time to come. Despite his rage, he noted that the more he moved, the less he felt the tightness of his chest. Maybe if he could work the adrenaline out, he could survive the night? Before he could turn around and keep searching, Mick felt the solid blow from a baton slam into the side of his head, dropping him to the ground as his claws skittered across the ground, trying to find grip on the linoleum floor.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, mutt,” rumbled Sherry, eyes trained Mick’s claws with an intensity like smouldering coals. Mick didn’t say anything besides growl as menacingly as he could and splayed his claws, waiting for Sherry to take a swing, but with a speed that once again betrayed his size, Sherry neatly placed two quick but hard hits to Mick’s head, dropping him to the ground, eyes struggling to stay open under the intense pain enveloping his head and chest, but before Sherry could land any more blows to the dropped dingo, he began to spasm wildly, dropping the baton and then to his face, revealing two wired prongs sticking out of his neck, connected to a plastic, yellow gun wielded by a uniformed mammal. He could make out the sounds of another breach outside with the thundering of hooves and paws outside filing in. Judging by their commanding voices, it was probably their rescue.

“Mick!” heard the weary canine, eyes widening as he heard the familiar voice of Fangmeyer. Rolling over onto his back, he saw a blur of orange dash towards him and clasp his shoulders with a gentle strength. “Mick, are you alright? Look at me, have you been exposed?” Was all Mick heard as he burst into strained tears, letting himself falling into her embrace, muttering “I’m sorry” before he felt a sharp and intense pain impale through his chest. It was blinding and as if the cold hand of Death squeezed his heart, ceasing it.

_I stopped moving_ , was all he thought as he felt his eyes roll back into his head.

It felt like hours to him, endless dull, uncertain hours that Mick fought through like slogging through a fog-covered swamp. He wrestled to open his eyes, but lost. He thought he could hear Fangmeyer… and Rodney? People he knew; some he didn’t too. It was all a mess to him; like a fever dream gone worse. Feeling like he had the fortitude to force his way into the world of the living, he tried using his voice box, all that came out was a grunt. After making a variety of noises, he opened one of his eyes a sliver, to let as little light as he could in, only finding it was pleasantly darker than he expected. Shifting his eye around, he decided to work on his other eye, then his mouth, head and finally arms (which were awfully shaky, much to his muted amusement). The effects of the altered nighthowler were quite different from what he had expected. Feeling a weight shift and purr to his left, he gently looked down, only to find an awfully mangy Fangmeyer resting her large head on the side of his cot. Cot? He looked around. This was a facility of some kind; probably a hospital. He sure hoped so. The sudden movement stirred the big cat as she yawned and opened her eyes to a weary-looking Mick smiling weakly at his companion and her awestruck expression.

“Fangy! Uh, he-“ was all he managed before Fangmeyer’s burly arms embraced him as she just silently kept him close as she kept her breathing in check. He could feel her emotion; she was open to him and it was only fair he opened up to her.

“I’m sorry Fang. I… stuffed up quite poorly didn’t I?” he asked, voice strained, yet measured. “Seems I, uh, made a fool of myself last night; what with the rum and my…” was all me managed before Fangmeyer pulled back, and looked at him in the eyes with a moist and powerful gaze.

“You’ve been out for three whole days Mick. Please, just take it easy on yourself now,” she asked him; her care for him showing.

“Fang, look. I made an arse of myself and I want to apologise. I nearly died yester- uh, three days ago and I really didn’t like it,” he chuckled weakly, Tears threatening to fall. “I won’t give it up as easily as I did then. I won’t let myself get near that level of danger and self destruction again, okay?” he said to his companion, watching her expression as it remained unchanged.

“Let me show you why I believe you,” said Fangmeyer with a touch of glee in her voice as she threw herself forward, placing her lips on Mick’s, using one paw to hold his head close as she kissed with a gentle passion. As she let him go, she could see the fiery blush radiate under his fur as he stuttered his way about what she did before stopping and taking a breath.

“I, uh, how does that help exactly?” he tried asking while keeping his composure. “N-not that I didn’t like it! I loved y- it. I loved it! I mean, it- hrk…” Stammered Mick as he clenched his chest as it flared with pain.

“Easy there, champ,” muttered Fangmeyer soothingly as she draped her arm around his shoulder. “Doctor said you’d best keep as calm as possible to keep you from having another heart attack.” “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind,” he mumbled back, the reality of having suffered from a near-fatal heart failure still not fully sinking in.

“Look, Fangy, I’m still sorry about the other night. Would you let me make it back up to you?”

“Make me food for at least a month straight, do a few loads of my laundry and I could definitely do with some favors around the house,” Fangmeyer rattled off with practiced ease.

“That was… planned a bit,” chuckled Mick as the tiger’s eyebrow raised expectantly. “You’ve got a deal, Stripy.”

“Oh! And that brings me to another thing,” stated Fangmeyer as she gave Mick a quick peck on the cheek. “My first name’s Lahela. I’ve never heard you call me by anything but ‘Fangmeyer’.”

“I was starting to think it _was_ your first name,” chuckled Mick. As Lahela stood to leave the bedridden dingo, she briefly flashed her phone at him.

“I gotta work now Mick, so how about later when you’re discharged I treat you to a nice dinner before you start your cooking service. Call it a date?” she asked, eyes hopeful.

“Sure, I’d like that,” he said, beaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll keep a sequel going


End file.
